A Posthumus Gentelman's Guide to Surviving Purgatory
by Smilindolfin
Summary: Or rather: Beckett's Guide on How NOT to Behave in Purgatory: What if James didn't go to the Locker when he died, but instead was forced to exist in limbo in the dreaded purgatory? And what if he wasn't alone? Snark and Sarcasm abound! Just a fun little story inspired by a conversation with a friend! (NO SLASH!)
1. Gentlemen Don't Smile In Purgatory

It wasn't the locker. That was certain, the Admiral thought to himself.

It wasn't much of a relief, but any sort of comfort at the moment was welcome. I mean, honestly, he'd just been stabbed through the stomach by the father of the fiancé of the woman he loved – who, by the way, was probably criminally insane. (The father, that is. James would never be so cruel as to slander Elizabeth.)

Well, no matter how you looked at it, Admiral Norrington's method of demise was distinctly unhappy.

Now, here he stood, still in his coat, looking about the place where he'd awoken –thankfully sans the rusty spear through his gut. With a quick, critical glance, James determined he wasn't in the locker, nor did he believe that he stood in Heaven –there hadn't been any sort of judgment yet –and it was really too mild of a climate to be Hell.

"Purgatory," he bit out with a scowl.

The place seemed to be some sort of island. It was mostly black rock and greyish, gritty sand. It had already begun settling inside Norrington's shoes when he shifted his feet. There was a volcano with a patch of mist gathering around its base toward what James assumed to be the south. He could only hope the jagged mountain was dormant. He highly doubted it, though His luck didn't exactly lead him to expect a kindly dormant volcano in Purgatory.

James' scowl deepened as he felt his stomach give out a growl of hunger. "Of course one still needs to eat. Once a man is dead he certainly should still need to sustain the non-existent functions of his corpse. Perfectly logical."

"Oh, don't be such a fusspot, Norrington. You can't have everything," a voice drawled out of the mist that had coagulated on the rough plains of the desolate island.

James spun on his heel reaching for his sword, which, of course, was no longer in its customary place at his side. "What hellish apparition are you?! Name yourself!" he demanded, hiding his true terror behind his booming 'command' voice.

A smaller stocky figure appeared from the mist. "I believe my mother was the last to use that _particular_ adjective. I do hope this isn't some newly invented horror for me. My mother's personality in your ghastly bean-pole like body," Beckett stopped before the Admiral with a bold expression on his cold face.

"Lord Beckett?" James couldn't help but scowl. This was one man he had hoped never to set eyes on again.

"That selfsame "hellish apparition" at your service," the former lord gave a mocking bow.

"I see your grand scheme failed. How does that feel, Beckett?" James quipped, quite in the mood for a little retribution.

Beckett sniffed, looking in the opposite direction. "I wouldn't know."

James snorted. "Oh, my mistake. Death was part of your plan, then? How silly of me to think otherwise. What – do you intend to rule the world from purgatory?"

The admiral's words were met with silence, which only increased his mirth. If he was to suffer here on this dreadful little island, he certainly wouldn't do so quietly. He was stick to death –no pun intended –of keeping his mind to himself.

"Coincidentally, how _did_ you die? What with the fleet, the Dutchman, the soldiers, how did you manage death with the cards stacked so nicely in your favor?"

Beckett looked thunderous. "I might ask you the same! You, with your new position in _charge _of the most dangerous ship on the sea! You, being the youngest Admiral ever to sail under the Union Jack, ended up dead at the hands of a psychotic old fish-man. Though, to be honest, once I knew the _whole_ story it wasn't hard to guess what killed you," he sneered. "That dreadful Swann girl has the "kiss of death" they say."

James was flabbergasted. How did the frustrating man know EVERYTING? They kissed in the dark, alone before she left –blast it all! Beckett was the most infuriatingly knowledgeable person he had ever had the misfortune to meet. Aside, perhaps, from his two good friends, Andrew Gillette and Theodore Groves…he hoped desperately that they were still alive. Though he felt ashamed at the small part of him that wished they were here relieve him of some of his suffering.

James clasped his hands behind his back, allowing his emotionless mask to slide into place. He quickly pushed away all thoughts of the living he had left behind. "That doesn't answer my question, Beckett."

"It's _Lord Beckett_, to you!"

James smirked. "Not anymore. You're dead."

Beckett cursed. "I went down with the Endeavor. There was a maelstrom courtesy of the goddess Calypso. I went out with a…bang…you might say."

"The ship's powder magazine exploded." James couldn't keep the grin off his face.

"Yes" Beckett's surly expression wasn't to be matched. Certainly James had never seen anything more childish in all his years at sea and to be fair, there had been some dreadfully childish midshipmen under his command.

"And with your tiny little legs you couldn't get yourself over the rail to safety?"

James had never heard quite so much colorful language from a refined gentleman before. He resisted the urge to block his ears and waited for the furious man to calm himself.

"If you must know, I was in shock. I never lose, you know." Beckett seethed. James might have described Beckett's look as murderous, but you can't kill the dead, so it was really more enraged than anything.

"Now, Beckett-

"_Lord!"_

James rolled his eyes. "I believe we should build some sort of shelter."

Beckett narrowed his eyes. He was in no mood to be trifled with. "Has the thin air up there addled your brain, Norrington? There is no _we_. I am going back to build _my_ shelter and you can rot for all I care."

James sighed inwardly. The little man was certainly spiteful in death. What happened to all the "rest in peace" rubbish he'd been told as a child?

"I merely meant, we could be here for some time, and it might prove…beneficial to form an alliance of sorts until we figure out what this Purgatory business is all about. For all we know we could be sharing the island with vagabonds and cutthroats," James reasoned, watching his once-commander out of the corner of his eye.

Beckett puzzled for a moment, calculating the pros and cons, calculating if he would come out the victor should trouble arise. That was Beckett's game. He played to win and no other option was acceptable.

Finally,

"Follow me, then, if you must. But I swear if you eat all of my food I'll put you out like a mutt on the porch." Apparently sitting in a shelter alone with the possibility of the lawless running rampant about the dismal island sounded awfully distasteful.

"You're really going to build a porch in purgatory?"

"Shut up, Norrington."

"Will it have columns too?"

"I believe I just gave you an order, Norrington!"

James didn't even feel the least bit sorry. "I believe I mentioned this earlier, but all forms of rank are abolished with death. So, I can, more or less do and say as I please."

Beckett stopped and turned, angry once more. "And who created this ridiculous rule?"

James smirked. "As men, we are all equal in the presence of death," he quoted.

Beckett cursed again. "I swear to you, Norrington, if you weren't already dead I'd kill you for your insolence."

"I know," James replied with much amusement as he took slow long strides, easily keeping pace with Beckett. "But, think about it! I could have been worse."

"Do enlighten me," Beckett snapped quite at the end of his tether with his smug companion.

"We could have been stuck here with Sparrow."

Silence reigned as the truth of the statement sunk in.

In the privacy of their own minds, both men quickly prayed that Sparrow live, if only to spare their own sanity.

They knew they could bare to suffer the other's company, at least for a time, but if Sparrow was added to the mix? There would certainly be no resting and absolutely no peace.

"You've probably cursed us, you know. He'll die now, just to spite us both," Beckett replied at last, a sour expression on his face.

"He certainly has a penchant for turning up when he's not wanted," James agreed.

"So do you."

"Indeed not! When have I shown up unceremoniously and caused you grief?!" James demanded indignantly.

"You constantly caused me grief. You and your bloody morals. So hard to find men without them these days!" Beckett lamented.

James scoffed. "Morals are not a fault, Beckett."

Beckett glared. "_Lord!"_

"Dead, remember?"

"Bloody Hell, I hate you."

James smirked. "At least we'll always know where we stand with each other. You, of course, half a foot shorter."

"I've had it up to here with your brainless insults-

"Funny," James mouth twitched as he fought not to laugh. "I didn't know you could reach that high."

"**At least do me the honor of insulting me intelligently!"** Beckett talked over James, his icy voice cutting through James' amused drawl.

"As you wish!" James chirped almost cheerily, before picking up the pace. "Come alone we've got a shelter to build."

...

"Don't smile in Purgatory, Norrington. It's rude."

* * *

**A/N: Just a fun, sarcastic, witty little piece about James and Beckett.**

**My friend and I were discussing the 5th movie and how James is rumored to return and she mentioned that Beckett should come back too! So, we discussed how the two would behave together in the land of the dead and this happened! She's recovering from some surgery so this is to help cheer her up! :D**

Hope you all enjoyed! ^_^ 


	2. Neither Do They Laugh

James stepped back and admired his handiwork. It had taken what he estimated to be several days of hard labor, but he had finally finished their ramshackle shelter. It certainly wasn't the quality of Fort Charles, but it was definitely a step up from sleeping on the hard, bristle-like grass or worse, the stone grey sand.

After much discussion, Beckett had agreed that this was the best place to build. They'd made a circuit of the island and scoped out the area from a tall tree. It was a desolate place, indeed.

The entirety of the island was surrounded by jagged black stones, which looked like leftover rubble from the last eruption. No ships could hope to get close. That is, if there _were_ any ships in Purgatory to begin with.

More depressing was the island itself. It was either black from cooled lava, or covered in the dreadful gritty grey sand.

"It brings to mind the rubble from the diamond mines in the Indies. We would find this type of dirt in every bloody possible place while we were stationed there. Especially if a mine collapsed, then it would be in the air too," Beckett had mused as he'd emptied out his boot for the third time.

"You think this used to be a mining island?" James knew that Beckett was as aware as he was of their dead status, but it helped to humanize things a little. Purgatory versus an abandoned mining island? –well there really wasn't any question which was the saner of the two.

Beckett leveled his piercing grey eyes at the former Admiral. "I would have, yes. But the 'sand' extends as far out into the ocean as one can see. Even past the rocks."

James nodded ignoring the demeaning look from his diminutive companion. "Well, you climb up first, then, and test it out," he pointed up to their shelter which sat nestled in a sturdy yet quite unquestionably dead tree.

Beckett fixed James with a glare. "I will not! You built the blasted thing, besides you're twice my size and weight-"

"Height, perhaps, but not weight. All those henchman start to add a little padding, Beckett," James quipped.

Beckett spluttered staring at James. "And what on earth is that supposed to mean!"

James grinned. "Apparently even the dead can get fat."

Beckett narrowed his eyes. "I understood _that_ quite clearly, Norrington. What I meant was, how does my having underlings – such as yourself –contriubte to my suppsed weight gain?"

James started climbing, branch by branch smiling to himself as he went. "Well, Beckett, if I sat around in an office and let everyone else do my legwork, I'd imagine I'd look a little doughy too."

James was at the top of the tree now, sat on the boards they had found washed up on the eastern shore.

It had taken some time, and not a little arguing to decide which direction was which. They had found, after discovering James still wore his pocket watch, that in a 24 hour period the sun didn't change in the slightest. It was always directly above their heads at high noon, but with just enough cloud cover that it didn't really illuminate anything either.

It was a dreadful nuisance. Too dark to really see well and too light to sleep comfortably. So, they had come to decide that the Volcano, which was set at the very edge of one side of the island, was due north.

James thought it reminded him of a compass. The largest most obvious point was always indicative of North.

It was then, deciding the volcano was north, that they had decided to build their shelter as far from it as possible. So now, on the southern side of the island, James sat high in a dead tree on the remnants of an old rowboat. They certainly weren't the first ones here.

The shelter was sturdy enough for being built out of driftwood. James had dampened the wood and straightened each piece so as to accommodate their needs for a flat sleeping surface. There had been enough wood for a floor and one side, which he'd built facing the Volcano, just in case. Then, forcing Beckett to assist, at the threat of dragging his much smaller self, the two had collected dead branches for the remaining walls and used some of the longer grasses for a roof. It looked like the home of a savage rather than a shelter for two gentlemen. But one must learn to make due.

With the old boat they had found a few other odd supplies. A spyglass, a tarp, a flag so worn one couldn't pick out what the colors might have been, an old ink bottle, and a broken piece of a crate. Upon discovering these lucky finds, James had almost entertained the idea of fellow men on the island, that is, until Beckett had pointed out the half-buried hand of a skeleton, pointing toward the volcano.

They'd decided the skeleton would mark due east, and had left the bones in peace.

Now, Beckett stared up at James as the latter peered down through the opening they made on one side of the floor.

"Are you coming up, or do you need to be carried?" James quipped.

Beckett glared and started climbing. His shorter frame wasn't suited to climbing tall, dead trees, and he struggled to reach the opening. James had managed it in less than a minute with his long arms and legs to assist him.

When Beckett was close enough, James reached down through the hole to help him up.

Beckett swatted his hand away, and growled something obscene under his breath as he hauled himself up.

…

"I was right."

Beckett snapped a glare at the naval officer. "You were right about what," he snarled panting in his selected corner.

"You are out of shape!" James smirked at his companion and leaned back against the wall, propping his head on his folded arms.

"I could still strangle you in your sleep, Norrington."

"Ah, but we're dead, Beckett, I have nothing to fear!"

Beckett let out an exasperated huff and pulled the tarp they found over himself like a quilt. This left James with the flag to keep warm. Lovely.

James settled in for the night, listening to the win whistle through the shack and the grasses rustling dryly below them. He glanced at his companion wondering if he was the only one affected by the unsettling sounds.

"Norrington."

Ah, Beckett wasn't asleep then.

"Yes?"

"Stop staring, it's impossible to sleep."

James snorted. Of course the man would feel a stare!

"And Norrington!"

"What now!" James growled.

"You will build a ladder tomorrow."

It took a moment for the words to process in James' tired brain, but as he replayed Beckett's less-than-graceful ascension into the tree-house. It wasn't, he realized, because Beckett was lazy, but because he was short!

James chuckled to himself.

"NORRINGTON!"

James couldn't keep the smile from his face. "Yes?" he replied innocently.

"Laughing in purgatory is just as bad a smiling. Go to SLEEP."

James smirked to himself and shook his, head rolling over on one side. They still needed a food source –as his aching belly reminded him, and a steady source of fresh water, but for now they were well on their way to surviving purgatory.

He could only hope they fared better than Mr. Bones in the east.

* * *

**Hey there! I decided I wanted to add another chapter to this! So while my aching ankle keeps me awake I present for your pleasure: CHAPTER TWO!**

**I may or may not continue this further. It all depends on the amount of free time I have and the inspiration I get and the interest I receive from you readers! :D**

Love you guys! Hope you enjoyed and please remember to review! I LOVE YOU ALL but it's so much easier to show the love if I have a review to reply to! ^_^

Have a good night, all!


	3. Gentlemen Certainly Don't Pick Fights

Morning came, or James supposed it was morning, since he was awake and felt rested. It was truly impossible to tell time on this dreadful little island. The mountain loomed in the north and the pale sunlight always peeked through the foggy clouds that shrouded the whole island.

Beckett was still asleep, he noted, watching the rise and fall of his companion's shoulders. He huffed to himself as he made a mental checklist of the day's activities. It really wasn't all that different from his Navy days.

Their first priority was food and water. Then, they would have to make their shelter more accessible to them both. Well, mostly Beckett, but James was feeling generous at the moment.

Finally, he realized they would have to explore the island. They didn't know what half of the grey landmass held within its wilds. They could have more company than that of their skeletal friend and be completely unaware.

Struck by an idea James pulled a loose reed from the wall and quietly tore off a decent sized square from his flag-blanket. Smoothing the piece of fabric down on the wood floor he pulled the inkwell they'd recovered from the wreckage site and dipped the reed in. He was pleasantly surprised to find there was a good deal of ink left!

Slowly and with a steady hand he began to sketch out what he knew of the island. He marked the volcano in the north and drew a few non-descript squiggly lines down to where Mr. Bones lay pointing his skinless finger at the mountain. Then, he drew much clearer lines marking the shoreline down to their shelter which he marked with a large x. The rest he left blank, ready to be mapped in as they discovered more of their prison.

Indeed, it seemed to be a prison if it was anything at all. They couldn't leave. Their surroundings never changed. The grey dust and hard ground was little more welcoming than a town gaol.

Suddenly Beckett started, jerking upright and out of his slumber. "Bloody hell!"

James fixed him with a piercing look. "Have nightmares, Beckett?"

His companion offered him a withering look. "I wasn't, actually, but I certainly am NOW."

James rolled his eyes. "You seemed startled. Are the demons of purgatory coming to get you?"

Beckett turned slowly. "Actually, about that. I've had a thought."

"Congratulations, would you like a party thrown in your honor?"

"NORRINGTON!"

James sighed and put away his ink. "Alright, what is it?"

Beckett studied the map as he thought through his words. "Have you ever read Dante's Divine Comedy?"

James felt as though a thunderbolt struck him as he met Beckett's eyes. "Purgatorio?"

An air of seriousness fell over the little shelter. Beckett nodded once. "That mountain…is-"

"Mount Purgatory…" James finished for him, stunned he hadn't thought of it before.

Beckett nodded again. "Precisely. All we have to do is follow the path set in Purgatorio and we'll be free of this godforsaken place!"

James shook his head vehemently, clearing the heady clouds of hope before the overwhelmed him and caused him to do something stupid. "Suppose for a moment you're wrong! You're suggesting we traipse up the side of a volcano of unknown activity and hope that once we reach the top we're magically transported out of Purgatory! If you're wrong and that volcano blows there won't be any going back."

Beckett smirked. "What's the matter, Norrington? You scared? We're dead already, so what's the harm in a little risk? It's not as though we could die again."

James glared. "True, but how do you like the idea of spending the rest of your un-dead eternity looking like a piece of Beckett-shaped charcoal?"

Beckett sneered back. "Well what do you suggest we do? Sit around here until we decay and become part of the bloody scenery!?"

James felt agitated. "NO! I want to get out of here as badly as anyone, but I can't condone rushing up the side of a volcano hoping for some divine interference to save my life! So far the supernatural has not worked in my favor! Nor has it done so in your case! I suggest we wait and see what the island has in store. We search the island for food and water and treat this like any island excursion."

Beckett scoffed as he stood straightened his clothes. "Except for the fact that we're dead, we can't tell time, and we're really just marooned here with no resources and no hope for rescue. We know we're not alive, yet we don't appear to be properly dead. Where else do you think we are? Your imagination?!"

James stood too and cried out as he promptly smacked the top of his head on the low ceiling. "Bloody HELL! I know this is no earthly place! I'm not a fool, Beckett, but this scheme of yours is more reckless than you might imagine! Are you certain you read all of Purgatorio? If, on the off chance you are NOT wrong and that is Mount Purgatory standing in the north, we will have – according to the text – certain trials to face! Are you certain you will come out of this unscathed? The purpose of purgatory is to punish sinners so they will repent. Are you prepared to face you demons?"

Beckett floundered for an answer as James lowered himself through the hatch. "You didn't even stop to think about that did you, Beckett? No wonder you ended up dead," James sneered, his temper getting the best of him.

The moment his feet were on the ground he was stalking away. His long legs carried him quickly from their ramshackle shelter.

Beckett settled back in his seat thinking quietly to himself. He took a look at the map James had sketched and an idea struck him as he stared at the map. If he remembered Dante's story correctly there were two sinners who were trapped in the 'Ante-Purgatory' which could only mean the body of the island. If this really was the Purgatory from the story, there would be two men on this island. Men who could prove to the stuck up former-Admiral that James was wrong and he – Beckett, was right.

The former Lord smiled to himself as he snatched up the map, rolled it tightly in his fist and climbed painstakingly down the branched of the dead tree.

One doesn't simply pick a fight with Lord Beckett in Purgatory. It simply isn't done. He was certainly going to have to solve this problem post haste.

Once reaching the ground Beckett set off to the west, and unexplored side of the island, determined to find himself a sinner.

* * *

**Hi all! I've decided what I'm doing with the story! Isn't it great?!**

If you're not aware Dante's works were written in the 1300's which were well before James and Beckett's time. It would have been considered a classic then and something gentlemen would have read. Basically the story is about Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven in its respective parts. I'm focusing mainly on the Purgatory one 'Purgatorio' (which is Latin). You can look it up on Wikipedia if you're unfamiliar with the information, but hopefully as the story progresses I'll be able to provide you with enough information that you won't need to look it up! :D

Please read and review and let me know what you think!  


**Also, sorry it's a little short, but its 1:00am and I'm a little sleepy Heh.**

OK That's all for now! Night night! 


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